Page 90 of Whisper

We pick up speed, cutting through the camp. Shouts rise behind us.

“They went that way!”

“Hey! Who the hell?—”

Gunfire cracks. A burst of panic erupts from the camp. Screams. People running.

We round another corner. My lungs burn. Every nerve is on fire. My shoulder pulses like a detonator. The tunnel opens wide here. Too wide.

I shove her into cover behind a crumbling concrete support. “They’re on us.”

“How many?”

I glance back. One. Two. Three shadows gaining ground. More behind them. My grip tightens around the pistol. “More than I’ve got bullets.”

Eliza’s eyes go wide. Her breath stutters, panic blooming on her face. I step out just enough to draw a clean line of sight and squeeze off the first shot.

Crack. The lead man drops.

Second shot—center mass. The next crumples sideways, gasping.

Third. Fourth. Fifth—each round precise, honed. The last man lurches forward before crashing into the filth, a wet grunt his only epitaph.

And then—I’m dry.

My thumb taps the empty slide reflexively. “Out.”

I turn toward Eliza, body tensed, ready to shield her with whatever I have left. Suddenly, gunfire shatters the darkness.

I grab her, press her hard to the tunnel wall, my body caging hers, expecting death from both directions.

But the shots land behind us.

Men scream. Footsteps scatter. Someone goes down hard.

Then—voices. Clear. Clipped. Commanding.

“Cerberus! Lower your weapon!”

I look up.

Tactical black. No insignia. No names. Helmets pulled low. Rifles braced high.

Guardians.

A rifle clatters through the air. I catch it one-handed, already pivoting.

“You’re late,” I say, panting, blood slick down my arm, breath catching on the edges of pain.

“Get to the extraction point.” The Guardian doesn’t blink. His voice is gravel and steel behind the visor. “We’ll hold the line. Get her to safety. We’ve got this.”

He slides past me, already firing, movements lethal and fluid. Another figure materializes beside him, covering our flank.

I nod once, grab Eliza’s hand, and pull her forward. And for the first time in days, it feels like we might actually make it out alive.

TWENTY-TWO

Eliza